


Professionally Speaking

by Anonymous



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Groping, Non-Consensual Groping, Pre-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Angela gets a bit more than she bargained for while showing Moira the latest prototype of her suit





	Professionally Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as how Moira really got her hands on Angela's tech. (Both literally and figuratively).

"What an interesting design," Moira says, running her fingers over the light armoring of Angela's latest valkyrie suit prototype. The material is more than flexible enough to give Angela the distinct impression of Moira's long fingers trailing up her abdomen and then directly over her breast.

"I," Angela could swear for a fleeting moment that Moira _squeezes_ , but it must be a figment of her imagination. "Yes. Thank you," she knows she must sound flustered, but Moira's hand continues up over her shoulder as if nothing at all is amiss.

"Tell me about it."

Angela shivers involuntarily when Moira drags a nail directly down the center of her spine, bisecting the cadeus design Reyes had mocked up. "I, uh," she's far too aware of Moira's hand splayed out across her lower back, fingers dipping low enough to settle across the top of her buttocks. Venturing lower. "Engineer Lindholm helped with most of the construction," Angela says, fighting to remain still. She's reading too much into the casual touch; here she is blushing like a schoolgirl under the heat of Moira's gaze and little more than her ultimately professional curiosity.

"Hmm." Moira gives the modesty panel a firm tug and then replaces her hand below the drape, and surely Angela can't be mistaken that it sits a bit lower than before. If only because the armored segment ends low enough to protect her tailbone. "Well fabricated."

"Commander Reyes had some suggestions." She makes the mistake of shifting her weight, bringing to her awareness how wet she is as the motion shifts Moira's hand further towards the cleft of her ass. Her fingertips aren't far from the tight ring of muscle, not much further from discovering for herself how unprofessionally Angela is enjoying her attention. She doesn't mean for her thighs to clench, but she can't entirely stymie the reaction either.

Moira makes a noise in her throat like she's amused. Her hand gives a gentle squeeze. "I can imagine. And what about underneath?"

Angela's mind goes momentarily blank. She stares at Moira like a deer in the headlights as she tries to parse the question, "I - underneath -?"

Moira, who, on the other hand, doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. Her hand slips down the thin material, fingernails riding the seam of Angela's leggings and then her grip tightens again. "Underneath," she repeats as if Angela is being dense, two-toned eyes gleaming like Moira is pleased by the direction their conversation has taken.

Tongue-tied, Angela doesn't know how to explain to her that the material fits so tightly, is molded so exactly to her body that it didn't occur to her to wear anything beneath it. Now the very idea seems perverse.

"You'll have to pardon me," Moira saves her from herself with a dismissive air, feeling down the back of Angela's thigh to experience the texture of the experimental fabric for herself. Her grip mimics the curve of Angela's muscle, tight enough to bring blood to the surface of her skin. When she shifts to follow the lines of stitching back up Angela's inseam, all of it is far too sensitive beneath her touch. "I had assumed this was more than just a fancy suit of armor."

"It is," Angela jumps to assures her. She's hot under the collar, flushed, too embarrassed to squirm away from Moira's questing hand and equally terrified that if she continues on the same course, the fabric she encounters will be damp to the touch. "I designed the life support system myself. The suit uses," her voice falters, "uses an internally regulated biotic field capable of,"

Moira's nails dig in to the very top of Angela's inner thigh and she gasps, cutting herself off again. Moira's eyebrows lift. "I'd love to sneak a peek sometime," she assures her, giving Angela a quick once-over that makes her feel as if the valkyrie suit might as well be transparent. "At the schematics, that is."

"Of, of course," Angela finally manages to stammer, overheated and weak in the knees. She hates herself a bit for wondering if Moira might take the same opportunity with the two of them bent over her drafting table so she can do just that.


End file.
